I didn’t waste a fucking opportunity. I unloaded one bullet into his chest. It didn’t kill him, but he staggered to the floor
“End of the road, motherfucker,” I said as I came over and kicked him in the face, knocking some teeth out.
I could have killed him right there, but that would have been too generous to him. He’d raped Rachel. He was seconds away from raping Katie. Who knew how many other women had suffered because of this asshole? Who knew how much of the town had been harmed or traumatized because of this shithead?
Even just one other was too many. The only woman I’d ever cared about in my youthful years. The only woman I really now cared about.
It was time for Damian to pay the price.
“You guys are so dead,” Damian said, laughing.
“Maybe, but at least you can tell us how hell is when we get there,” I said, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the wall.
I could hear the other Black Reapers pulling up. They wouldn’t stop me, but it wouldn’t be the same. I was bloodthirsty for him, and I didn’t want to share the victory with anyone else.
“Fuck you,” Damian said, laughing. “Think you’re so righteous. You’re just like us.”
“At least you can admit how much of a fucker you are,” I said, stomping my boot on his hand, shattering the bones within. “Don’t worry. I’ll kill you soon enough. It almost disappoints me to have to do it.”
“You’ll be right behind me.”
“Those are my friends,” I said. “Yours were killed at the gas station.”
Spitting up blood, his clothing redder than their actual colors, he laughed.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” he said. “That fucking graffiti. You think that was a joke?”
I pulled out my gun. I was getting tired of this, and the Reapers were now parking their bikes outside.
“You think we did that to troll you? You think we are that petty that we’d put something like that to troll you?”
“I don’t really fucking care why you did it. I care that you’re about to be dead.”
Damian laughed some more before giving me a middle finger with his good hand.
“The Fallen Saints are coming back, bitch,” he said. “We have our own Cole Carter.”
How the fuck…what?
“You should have let this be a small-town battle. It would have never escalated past the occasional bar fight.”
“I wouldn’t call a gang-rape a bar fight.”
“Connor!” Brock shouted from downstairs.
“But you had to go and get help.”
I pointed the gun at his skull. He laughed. He knew there was nothing he could do to save himself.
“And now, you’ve got a war that crosses state lines,” he said. “I’ve done my part. See you in fucking—”
I pulled the trigger. His brains blew out behind him, splattering on the wall. His body slumped to the ground just as Brock came up, some of the blood splattering on both of us.
“Christ,” Brock muttered.
But he composed himself when he saw the second of three rapists of Rachel Reid dead on the ground. Their deaths would not bring her peace—wherever she was, for I had not seen her in years, even though rumors said she was still in town—but they would, hopefully, provide a small level of justice.
“We need to get out of here,” Brock said. “Sheriff Davis is going to be here any second now.”
